Unspecified
by Bree Rose Namet
Summary: "Remember," the bully hisses. "Remember every moment in your life when you felt alone." Unspecified character, unspecified fandom, make of it what you will. Please review! Oneshot.


**A/N: I honestly have no clue where this one came from. It's pretty dark, so… yeah. Don't like, don't read, and all that. Also, it's one of those fics where the character isn't specified. So, you can decide for yourself who it's about. Enjoy.**

**~ Bree**

**Disclaimer: Do I really have to disclaim anything? I don't mention anything that's copyrighted… oh well, I don't own Glee.**

I guess you could say I know what it's like to be miserable.

"_Remember_," the bully hisses. "Remember every moment in your life when you felt alone." He's pressing me against a brick wall, holding me by my hair. Three of his cronies are backing him, but most of them are probably back at the party.

That party. I don't know _what_ I was thinking.

"_Remember_," he hisses again. I can smell the alcohol on his breath, and all of a sudden memories envelop me.

I'm four years old, standing on the stairs in my pyjamas. My parents are fighting in the kitchen, and my father is waving a beer bottle. I watch through the bars on the stairs as my father slaps my mother across the face.

I'm five and reading fluently; I taught myself to read with old newspapers and magazines. My father walks in on me reading a magazine one day, and he rips it from my hands, tearing it into tiny pieces and throwing them in the air like confetti. _If I ever catch you reading again, it'll be bad. Very bad_, he snarls. I don't realize till many years later that he's jealous of how easily I can read, something he never really learned.

I'm six years old, holding my first report card. I got all As in a desperate attempt to please my parents. _I'm busy right now_, my mother says. _What are you, some stupid know-it-all?_ my father snarls._ School won't get you anywhere. Look at me! Did I ever get higher than a C+? No I did not._ I watch the report card get thrown in the fire.

It's six months later; my parents are called to a parent-teacher meeting. They don't show, and my teacher calls them later, informing them that I've failed every subject except language, and I'll have to retake grade one. My father hangs up on her, then comes back into the dining room swearing at me, saying they always knew I'd turn out rotten, and they don't give a damn whether I pass or fail, but who the hell did she think she was, calling during dinner?

I'm eight, watching my best friend playing with a group of boys who won't let me join them. _Go away, you sissy!_ they snap. I retreat into the corner of the yard and hide behind my book, waiting for recess to be finally over.

I'm nine when I find out about the affair. I come home early one day when my mother is at work, and my father is in my parents' bedroom with one of my mom's friends. I press my ear to the keyhole and hear giggles and moans.

It's my eleventh birthday, and my parents ignore me. No presents, no cake, no party, only _Take out the trash_ and _Get me a beer_. That night after my parents are asleep, I steal a cupcake from the pantry and stick an old candle in it. I can't find any matches, so I pretend to blow out the candle. I wish for someone to love me. I eat the cupcake and hide the evidence before going to bed, but my father notices the next day that one is gone and hits me anyway.

I'm almost thirteen, and I'm informed in front of my entire class by a teacher who hates me that I've failed grade six. I will not be advancing to middle school. The class starts laughing at me, knowing that I've failed a grade already, and I run out of the room. I punch a hole in a wall and get nine stitches. When my father finds out, he punches me and dislocates my nose.

I'm fourteen, and I'm standing in the bathroom, staring at my mother lying limply in the bathtub. Her wrists are slit and the bathwater is red. I know I should be sad, but I can't muster up anything but shock, and perhaps a very tiny amount of relief. Eventually, I stumble to the phone and call 9-1-1. My father comes home to see her being loaded into the back of an ambulance. He doesn't cry, but I sneak downstairs in the middle of the night and see him sitting on the couch with a beer, staring blankly at the TV.

A month later, I'm standing alone at my mother's grave. The mourners (there were few – she never left the house for anything besides work) have all left. My father never came – he has a meeting with his "grief counselor". I'm old enough to know that he's sleeping with her.

It's three years later. I'm seventeen, finally in grade ten. My teacher pulls me aside after school in December and shows me my report card. Cs in French and Music, a D in History, Rs in Math, Science, Gym, and Media, and a lone B- in English. _You're intelligent_,_ you just need to apply yourself_, she says. _I want to help you advance next year._ I laugh in her face. _Bullshit. Besides, I'm not coming back_. She starts to object, but I snap, _I'll be a legal adult. You can't stop me_. Of course she says, _Your parents will make you come back._ I laugh again. _Mom's dead, dad doesn't give a damn. Stay out of my life_.

I'm brought back to the present by the bully smashing my head against the brick wall behind me. I see stars and the only thing stopping me from passing out is the bully growling, "Stay the hell away from me and mine, you freak."

He lets go of my hair and I slide to the ground. The last thing I'm aware of is them walking away, back to the party I should never have dared to attend. Did I think that since everyone was drunk they wouldn't realize that I don't belong there? Yeah, right.


End file.
